The Scandalous Lives of London's Elite
by tiddlywinx
Summary: Gossip Girl here, bringing you only the best about London's new powerful regime. With Voldy defeated, Harry, Ginny, Draco, Blaise, Hermoine, and Cho command high society in the city. Harry/Ginny, Draco/Ginny, Blaise/Anyone With Legs
1. The Illustrious Weasel

_Gossip Girl here, bringing you the scoop on the scandalous lives of London's elite._

**The Illustrious Weasel**

_To say Ginerva Weasely was famous would be a terrible understatement. She was legendary in London's fashion scene as the first model to rise to international stardom fresh out of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy. After booking her first photoshoot for __WitchWeekly__ at the tender age of seventeen, she was snatched up by every major designer just aching for her brilliant red hair and adorable freckles. Five years later, she stands strong as England's favorite supermodel and Harry Potter's favorite squeeze. Can anyone say "superstar wedding"?_

Ginny stretched her long slender legs until her manicured toes poked out from the edge of her 600 count Egyptian cotton sheets. She flopped over ungracefully and looked at the clock. Six fifteen.

"Bugger!" she shouted, jumping up. She had a show downtown at seven-thirty. Hannah was going to fry her arse for dinner.

Ginny threw on some skinny jeans, a blue t-shirt, and a pair of hot pink snakeskin pumps Luna gave her for her birthday. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, glancing at the clock again. It would be impossible to find a cab on a Friday.

She sprinted down the stairs, as fast as the stilettos would allow and practically kicked open the door to the street. Gridlock traffic. "Fuck!" Ginny screamed. People on the street stared at her as they walked by, and it wasn't because she was gorgeous. Then, she spotted Jesus on a motorcycle.

"Oi! You there!" She waved to the man on the bike while running through the sea of standstill cars. The man eyed her curiously, not quite able to place a name with her pretty face. "I need a ride. Twenty pounds to weave through all these cars and get me downtown."

"Fifty," he bargained, narrowing his eyes.

She glared at him and took out another fifty. "Fine. You better be good."

He shot her a handsome smile. "The best. Hop on."

As soon as she swung her leg over the seat, he was off. She gripped his waist for dear life. The cars flew by, mere inches from her legs. If she got in an accident, her career would be over. If she was late to this show, her career would be severely jeopardized. What a win-win situation.

Her motorcycle savior had her downtown in ten minutes flat. Not a scratch. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, hopping off the bike and giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

The man smiled gratefully, but still couldn't place her. Then, just when she ran out of earshot, he muttered in shock, "Was that Ginevra Weasely?"

"Hannah!" Ginny called as she sprinted through a crowd of anorexic twigs. "Hannah, I made it!"

A short blonde whipped around, furious. "Bloody hell, Ginevra! It's twenty minutes until we start! Get into hair and makeup!"

Since Ginny had started her career, she'd reverted back to Ginevra. No model would last thirty seconds in the fashion world with a name like Ginny. It was just too...childish.

Fifteen minutes of tugging at her hair and smuging plenty of black liner on her eyes, Ginny looked like a rockstar. Hannah Abbot, London's newest lingerie designer, was launching her spring collection of Aphrodite. Ginny had finally earned a good enough reputation to headline the shows as first to walk. It was a position she relished, despite the hundreds of girls out for her head.

"Five minutes people!"

Ginny adjusted the last few bits of a lacy Alice In Wonderland inspired number and tottered up to the front of the line. "Relax, Hannah. These peices are bloody fabulous."

"Shut up and get out there," Hannah replied with a smirk.

Ginny beamed. "Toodles."

The runway was her favorite place. She was a wallflower the entire time in school, barely noticeable next to the Golden Trio that happened to save the world without any of her help of course. Modeling put her in the limelight. People came to see her, to take picture of her, to watch _her_. Hell, she was almost as famous as Harry at this point. It was about time someone else got a turn.

Lily Allen's "Ldn" blared cutely from the speakers. She could fought the urge to completely sway her hips. It would look to unprofessional. The runway had thrown paper hearts all over it, making the surface only slightly slippery. Ginny was fine, though. She hit her mark at the end of the runway and gave a catty wink to the photographers. They ate her up in a million flash bulbs. She finished her walk and was thrown into a new outfit. The show only lasted a half hour, but Ginny's adrenaline was still pumping.

"Great show!" Hannah squealed, hugging Ginny round the waist. The blond designer was a whole head and a half shorter than her five-foot-ten lead model.

Ginny patted her friend affectionately. Hannah was always much more fun after shows when the relief came crashing down. Ginny slipped out of her couture and into black skinny jeans and tight blue t-shirt. This girl was hot enough to rock sweatpants to the Oscars.

The afterparty was held in an underground club, rented out for the occasion. Ginny texted Harry on her mobile. It was incredible how handy Muggle devices were. She wondered why wizard's hadn't discovered this kind of communication yet.

Her hip vibrated.

**Harry**: Have to work late. Sorry, doll.

Ginny jammed her phone back into her tiny pocket. She wished it was a flip phone so she could have snapped it angrily. Harry never showed up to anything. He was working. Working, working, working. Honestly, you'd think saving the world once was enough? But, no. He had to become a bloody Auror on his path to ultimate martyrdom. She wouldn't be surprised if the angels descended into her living room one day and offered Harry eternal life.

Well, Ginny wasn't about to waste a perfectly good open bar.

"Vodka martini. Extra dry. Extra olives." Her face was all business. She was getting plastered tonight.

Four martinis later, Ginny found herself wandering through the party, a Cosmopolitan in hand. She was about to circle back around to the bar when she accidently bumped someone.

"Oh. Sorry!" she giggled. Some of her drink had splashed onto a pair of black Italian leather shoes. She looked at the owner.

Draco Malfoy did not appear amused. "These are Italian."

"I'll buy - Draco bloody Malfoy! I thought I'd never see your pretty face again," Ginny shouted over the din.

God bless the man, he cracked a small smile. "Weasely, you think I'm pretty?"

"Oh fuck off," she teased, hitting his arm. Her drink nearly spilled again. "What are you doin' here?"

He suddenly leaned towards her face, her ear. "Networking. Where's boy wonder?"

Ginny couldn't quite think clearly with him so close. He smelled very nice. "Off being wonderful, as per usual. What have you made of yourself?"

"I own a Quidditch company," he explained patiently. His had was on her arm, to steady her. Ginny hadn't realized she'd been swaying. "Would you like me to take you home?"

"Yes. I do believe that would be a fabulously marvelous course of action at this point in time," she replied, "For my stomach has decided to go in many different directions as has my brain and general locomotive functions."

Draco chuckled lightly and led her up the stairs to the street. The night air hit Ginny like a cold shower. She suddenly became extremely hungry and unreasonable.

"I need some food. Now."

He shook his head. "You need to go home. I won't let Potter hear your incoherent ramblings about Malfoy deserting you in the middle of the city."

"Well, maybe Potter will hear my incoherent ramblings of Malfoy taking advantage of a poor inebriated Ginevra Weasley unless that same Malfoy gets me some appetizing substances," she retorted.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Do you always use ridiculous words in your speech?"

"I happen to find my linguistic vernacular quite intruiging, don't you?"

"No."

* * *

The next morning, Ginny couldn't remember much that had happened. She remembered bumping into Draco. She remembered the lingering mix of leather and fresh soap in her nose when he talked to her. She remembered the box of pizza she consumed by herself while Draco watched in amusement. Gross.

And there was something she couldn't remember that tugged at her memory. Something she had agreed to.

Ginny brushed her teeth, looking hard at herself in the mirror. Her hand fell limp. The toothbrush clattered in the sink bowl.

Bloody buggering hell.

She had agreed to dinner with Draco Malfoy.


	2. Sexy Slytherins Strike Again

**Sexy Slytherins Strike Again**

_Relieved of his questionable past, Draco Malfoy became a mogul from his top Quidditch supply company, "Quick Quidditch". "Double Q", as it's called on the street, makes both top of the line and affordable Quidditch supplies for every market of sports fan. His revolutionary advancements in broom technology have made even the Firebolt look like an outdated Cleansweep. Mister Malfoy has lived the bachelor life, seen with money maven Cho Chang in very few candid shots. Blaise Zabini, Draco's long time partner in crime, maintains co-ownership of Quick Quidditch company and appears very comfortable living the life of a London playboy._

Draco Malfoy awoke to the same sound every morning: the quiet clack of shoes leaving his bedroom. It was the sound of his nightly consort leaving the room before she had work at the International Department of Law. He imagined she would grab some coffee before she apparated out.

Usually, Draco kept his eyes closed until he heard the distinctive crack of her apparating. This morning, however, he rose from his black silk sheets.

"Why won't you let me take you to breakfast, love?"

"Don't call me 'love'." Cho glared at Draco. She hated that he looked so lovely in the mornings. The static of his sheets electrified his hair creating a soft halo around his head. He was a demon in the skin of an angel.

"One of these days you'll love me, Cho. And then what will you do with yourself?" He gazed into his (sort of) girlfriend's deep eyes. Her hair flowed over her face and down her exposed back like a black curtain.

"One of these days you'll realize it's just for the sex, Draco. And then what will you do with yourself?" Her tone was not playful. It never was. Still, he enjoyed this edge to her personality, even though it prevented them from ever getting closer.

He shot her a smug smirk. "I'll probably pull you back into bed."

"Good answer," she replied, slamming the door behind her. He leaned back onto his mountain of pillows with a small sigh.

What a tart," he muttered to the empty room.

* * *

"Off you go ladies," Blaise announced as he pulled on his tie. He checked his reflection in the mirror and smiled arrogantly. "Daddy's got to go to work."

Two questionably dressed women stirred under his sheets. The brunette awoke with a slight smile. She had forest green eyes that were softer than his own.

"Of course, Mister Zabini. We'll be on our way." She shook the leggy blonde awake. They slipped into their dresses, kissed him on each cheek, and left the flat.

Blaise straightened his collar, an oddly Slytherin smirk plastered across his handsome face. "All in a night's work."

* * *

Draco rocked back and forth in his plush leather office chair. He lazily sipped on his chai latte. Blaise would call him a woman for enjoying such drinks. Of course, Mister Son-of-a-Fearsome-Ex-Death-Eater Zabini ordered Cosmos every time they went bar hopping. It's no wonder they couldn't pick up women together. Any ignorant onlookers assumed they were couple. It's a good thing they were the wealthiest bastards in England. And that Blaise was a notorious playboy.

"You're late," Draco said as the door opened.

Blaise smirked. "I had quite the night, sir. I see you're still drinking estrogen."

Draco took another sip. "And it's rather delicious. We've got a meeting in the conference room."

"For what?"

"We made _Spelle_'s Top 50 Sexiest Men Under 50."

"You beat me again, didn't you?" Blaise asked, his face falling a bit. Draco beat him every year. Blaise wasn't quite sure why since Blaise had bedded far more women.

"What else would explain this smirk?"

"Fuck you, mate."

Draco laughed and rose from his chair. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. There's always next year."

Blaise punched him playfully. "You bet your arse. It'd be unfortunate for you befall a terrible face scarring accident in the next few months."

"Tragedy," Draco replied, his tone dripping in sarcasm.

They walked into the conference room to find a tiny raven haired woman checking her watch.

"Ah, my two favorite bastards. Late as always." Her tone was perfectly Slytherin.

Blaise feigned a hurt look. "Pansy, I happen to have a perfect pedigree."

"You're right. You're no better than a dog."

"Now, now children," Draco said, taking a seat, "Let's get to business, shall we?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "If we must."

Pansy grilled the two about their love lives, and then asked minor questions about boring topics like philanthropy and their goals and dreams for the company. Draco's evasive relationship with Cho Chang was on the table for quite a while, but he only gave Pansy the driest of comments. Yes, they were dating. No, he wouldn't say how long. Yes, Cho is a beautiful woman. No, he wouldn't comment on their sex life.

Blaise, however, was full of juicy details. Almost disgustingly juicy. His most recent conquest was Daphne Greengrass, a famous, and attractive, wine connoisseur living in the English countryside.

"She has a brilliant chateau overlooking the sea. Of course, we didn't spend much time looking at the scenery," he explained with a cocked eyebrow.

Pansy's quill scratched away on her notebook. "I threw up in my mouth a bit there. Please spare me the conquests of your exceedingly small -

"Now, now, Miss Parkinson," Draco interrupted, "Let's keep this professional, shall we?"

She checked her watch and smiled. "Oh, look at the time. I'm off to interview The Boy Who Kept Coming Back To Life."

Blaise's narrowed his dark amber eyes at the comment. Harry Potter still remained at the top of his Annoying Wankers List. "Speaking of which, what place did he come in?"

* * *

_Reviews/comments are always appreciated. Especially if I have any plot holes, spelling errors, or general discontinuity._


	3. The Boy Who Lived Normally

_**A/N: Sorry for the horrendously long update. I've been booked solid with schoolwork. (I'll try and be better. I promise!) I wrote a longer chapter this time. It focuses more on Harry, but don't worry, the next chapter will swing back around to Draco & Ginny. Enjoy reading!**_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**The Boy Who Lived Normally**

_Saving the world once would rocket any normal wizard into an early retirement, but not our dear hero, Harry James Potter. After defeating little ol' Voldy-poo, Mister Potter snapped up his diploma from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and threw himself into the workforce. Our boy martyr, of course, chose to fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming a top-notch Auror, and a top-notch Auror he has become. Harry has received two Wizard Lifetime Achievement Awards, five Magical Class 5 Honors from the Ministry, and has been _Spelle's _#1 Top 50 Sexiest Men Under 50 for three consecutive years. Well, that was until Mister Malfoy posed for a few more centerfolds in the last two years and the ladies of London couldn't resist._

"Bloody buggering Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed and threw Ginny's copy of _Spelle_ on their glass coffee table. Ginny winced, but the table remained in one piece.

Ginny rushed over to him and began rubbing his shoulders. If her boyfriend furrowed his brow any more, he was going to be left with some unattractive wrinkles. She decided now would not be the opportune time to tell him this. "But you beat Blaise, honey. You beat Draco last year, anyways."

"No, Gin, I bested Malfoy two years ago. Am I losing my edge?" he asked. Harry ran his hand through his eternally messy black hair. Draco. Fucking. Malfoy. Even after grade-school, the stupid guy found someway to irk Harry.

Ginny rolled her eyes when he looked away. "Of course not. You just haven't been out much the last year. I mean, _I've barely seen you._ Draco's a little better at publicity, dear. He did that shoot for _WitchWeekly_ this year, remember?" Honestly, how could anyone woman forget that shoot. Draco Malfoy clad in nothing but little tight Quidditch shorts. It was enough to make any woman swoon, not that she would ever let Harry know that.

Harry seemed placated, if only for the moment. "Well, I'm not going to look like a wanker in some teen magazine just to beat that bloody git."

"You don't need to," Ginny cooed, running her hand up his neck, "The only girl you need to impress is me."

He grinned at this. A genuine crooked smile that Ginny hadn't seen in so long. Harry always looked tired these days. "I love you," he said kissing her briefly, "See you later."

"Will you be home tonight?" Ginny asked as he was halfway out the door. Harry paused.

"I've got a lot of paperwork, Gin. But tomorrow, definitely."

Ginny felt slightly deflated. "'Kay."

The door slammed shut and Ginny was once again alone in the apartment.

* * *

Harry had a small stone at the base of his stomach. It was his guilt stone, and some days, it weighed much heavier. Today was one of those days. He hated leaving Ginny, but he was incredibly devoted to his work. As Harry often tells his Aurors in Training, evil never sleeps.

Well, maybe some evil. He was pretty sure Voldemort had taken a nap once in a while. But it was pure conjecture.

Harry walked into the telephone booth and dialed a random number. He didn't think the exact number ever really mattered. The booth could detect if you were a wizard or muggle and always connected you to the appropriate communications. Harry yawned as the booth sunk below the street. He was so tired these days. It seemed he was constantly doing paperwork. After years of illegal field work, chasing down evil and breaking hundreds of school rules, being an auror was a bit dull. This was not to say that Harry was ready to hunt down another psychotic snake faced dark lord, but he would like something besides rescuing muggles from kelpies or erasing memories when some dumb kid rides their broom across the park.

"Oi! Harry!" Ron shouted across the lobby as Harry stepped out of the booth. Harry smirked slightly. He loved working with his best friend. Ron was all smiles and jokes most of the time. Harry was pretty pleased his friend was almost fully recovered after Fred's tragic death. The war was trying on everyone, yet somehow, normalcy took over their lives at an incredible speed. Hermoine was currently working for the Daily Prophet, but Harry knew she was secretly trying to start a SPEW division in the Ministry.

"Ron!" Harry replied and hastily ran over, "Who've we got today?"

They walked briskly towards the Department of Magical Enforcement. "A few first years: Matilda, Timothy, and David. Only three today."

"Shall we run the Magical Cat exercise?" Harry asked, trying to conceal his laughter. He and Ron loved the Magical Cat exercise. It was nearly impossible for new Aurors in Training (ATs) to make their way through because, essentially, it included much of the horrible dark magic challenges Harry, Ron, and Hermoine had faced during their time at Hogwarts.

Ron's eyes lit up in excitement. "Brilliant! I don't think Hermoine'll let me borrow Crooshanks again, though. 'Kinda shook him up last time we did it."

"Well, we didn't suspect that one of our ATs was going to _stupefy_ everything in sight, now did we?"

Ron grinned wider. "'Course not."

They finally made it to the briefing room where their ATs were waiting nervously. Harry took the roll from Ron. "Timothy?"

A short boy with a mop of brown hair waved his hand.

"David?"

A tall young man with sharp features and warm brown eyes nodded his head.

"Matilda?"

The girl that raised her hand was not who Harry had been expecting. She had a sheet of raven black hair and large, pale green eyes. She was stunningly pretty.

Harry jerked his eyes from her. "We were just informed that another Death Eater's house has been found. Please accompany Mr. Weasley and I so that we may properly disarm the house and retrieve and items of dark magic."

The three ATs somberly followed Harry and Ron out. Harry could feel their nervous energy come off in waves. They went to the Ministry's Portkey Room and all grabbed an old soda bottle. The familiar tugging sensation flung them into an old musty house. Harry and Ron immediately ducked as a swarm of vampire bats flew down the stairs into the ATs, then around the corner.

Matilda shrieked; she flushed crimson. "Sorry."

Harry was still startled by her eyes, and chose to look at David instead. "We're going to split into one team of two and another of three. Each team must both disarm the wards around this house and recover any magical objects they come across."

"Harry, why don't you take Matilda? David, Timothy, and I will cover the West Wing of the house," Ron said with a smirk. There were much scarier things in this house and Ron didn't want to end up with a screamer.

Harry fought back a groan. "Alright," he agreed roughly, "This way."

Matilda followed him quietly. They approached the parlor, and to Harry slight surprise, their cat was already there. He heard Matilda coo softly behind him. This was going to be hilarious.

"Look out for any wards," Harry said halfheartedly. He stepped over the grey and black cat that was wandering innocently around the room.

Matilda had an incredibly soft spot for fuzzy animals. She squatted on the ground and beckoned it towards her. The cat lazily ambled over. "Here kitty, kitty." Maltilda was nearly squeeing in delight.

As soon as her hand touched the cat's fur, she felt a tug at her stomach. Bloody hell. It was a portkey.

Matilda could hear Harry's suppressed laughter as she was sucked out of the house.

* * *

She was a fucking model.

A model.

Models were built to wear clothes.

Then why was it that Ginny was staring at herself in the mirror clad only in her bra and knickers?

This was idiotic. She didn't even like Draco Malfoy. He was a complete and utter prat. A drop dead gorgeous wanker, but a wanker nonetheless. Maybe she would just go in sweatpants.

Maybe she just wouldn't go at all.

Ginny's brain stopped whirring and paused on that thought. Why did she have to go? That man _deserved_ to get stood up once in his charmed life. And why not by Harry Potter's girlfriend? She bit her lip, contemplating her options. She could go to dinner, probably have an alright if not awkward evening with Malfoy, and then come home. Or she could ditch England's most eligible bachelor, curl up on the couch with a pint of frozen yogurt, and watch movies on her enchanted telly. Her life was full of tough choices.

Yogurt, it was.

Ginny was nearly on the couch in her favorite unicorn print pajama bottoms when she heard someone buzzing her apartment from below. Then, she heard that someone's voice say, "Open the bloody door, Weasley! My hair is getting mussed by the wind."

Bugger.

* * *

**_Let me know of any discontinuities, grammar mistakes, spelling mistakes, or if you simply like the story. All constructive criticism is appreciated._**


	4. Dead Meat

_Sorry for the hiatus. I can blame school and writer's block, but it was laziness and lackluster. I couldn't get back into the story for a while, but I think I'm back now._

* * *

**Dead Meat**

Ginny flushed as she opened the door. She and Draco looked down at her pajamas in the same instant.

"I thought something like this would happen," Draco sighed, as if talking to a petulant child, "So you will wear what I brought you." He held out a dress box for her.

She raised an eyebrow. "I think unicorn pajamas are perfectly acceptable considering you haven't even told me where we're going."

Draco rolled his eyes as he pushed past her. "We're going to _Cusp_. Have you been there yet? Surely you could afford it _now_."

"Are you really going there, ferret? Because given the state of your stupid Quidditch company's stock, my payroll is rocketing past yours." Ginny ripped the dress box from Draco's hands and slammed the door to her room. She heard Draco pull one of her kitchen chairs out to sit down. The box fell apart on her bed, revealing a midnight blue cocktail dress. It was simple, strapless, and the material felt amazing against her skin. She almost smiled before remembering where it came from. She walked back into the kitchen trying to lessen her deep grimace.

"It's..._nice_," Ginny announced. She pretended to inspect the stitching.

"It's Vera Wang. It's more than _nice_." Draco replied, "I couldn't find anything better to match that Weasely hair of yours."

Ginny denied him a response and instead expressed her distaste through making all her actions abnormally violent. After shoving her feet into some silver pumps, she opened the door and shoved Draco into the hallway. He winced slightly as she followed him out, slamming the door behind her.

"You're not going to have a door left if you keep doing that."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "And you're not going to have a head left if you keep acting like an insufferable prat."

* * *

Cusp_ was at the forefront of the London restaurant industry's move towards wholly organic and healthy options. That's good news for your waist, but bad news for your wallet. The ever lovely Luna Lovegood works days at Editor in Chief of _The Quibbler _(which is now nearly as reputable as The Daily Prophet), and nights at her numerous four-star restaurants scattered throughout the city. _Cusp_, like it's sister restaurants, boasts under 450 calories a plate and all natural ingredients. Nearly all spices and common vegetables are grown in-restaurant and double as decor in the Eden of dining Lovegood has created._

"So?" Draco paused. He shifted as if he were uncomfortable. Malfoys are never uncomfortable.

Ginny gazed at him thoughtfully, her fork suspended midair, a bloody chunk of meat skewered on its end. "Why did you ask me to dinner? I've hardly exchanged a word with you since grade school and my opinion of you hasn't changed much. You're still a first class prat."

Draco leaned over the table so that he was positioned oddly close to Ginny's face. "Honestly, Weasley? I need the tabloids off my back about Cho. She gets quite irritated when her face is on the newsstands. And it's much more difficult to get her skirt off when she's irritated." He smirked and resumed his original seat.

Ginny's mouth dropped slightly pronouncing a small 'oh'.

There was a pregnant pause. Then, the floodgates burst.

"You bloody arrogant son of a bitch!" Ginny half shouted. She was gesturing wildly with the piece of meat, now cold on her fork. "You're such a...a liar! And to think, I almost you might have used your pea-sized brain to establish better relations with the new face of your product!" She had full attention of the room and was planning to use it to her advantage. "Screw you! And good luck getting me to sign that contract your office just sent over. We're finished here."

With that, the meat from Ginny's fork dislodged and flew right onto Draco's fine Italian silk shirt. It slid sickeningly slow down the cream fabric, leaving a bloody stain in its wake.

"This shirt was 2,000 galleons," he said quietly. Amusement laced his tone. He glanced up at the furious redhead standing before him. "You need to watch your temper, Weasley. The press is already here."

Sure enough, nearly fifteen photographers fought their way into the restaurant. Flashbulbs burst in front of Ginny's face. She froze, holding an empty fork. Draco turned towards the paparazzi and gave them a jovial wave. Ginny threw the fork at photographers, grabbed Draco by the sleeve, and dragged him to the back of the restaurant and through the kitchens.

"Stupid pasty rich snob with no moral compass," Ginny muttered under her breath. Draco laughed quietly. This was the most fun he'd had in months. They burst out the back door. It hit the wall and shuddered, as if it would snap in two. Draco's driver was already waiting.

"How did he know?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"Predictability is a common character flaw shared by the Weasley clan," he replied while opening the door. She snarled at him and slid inside the town car. Then, much to Draco's surprise, she grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut.

He jumped back. "You nearly crushed my hands, woman! Do you know how much I'm worth? Are you _insane?_"

She rolled down the window flashing him a potentially deranged smile. "Insanity's just another Wealsey character flaw. It makes us - oh what's the word - _unpredictable_. Goodnight, Malfoy."

The car began to slowly roll away. Draco stood, stunned that the little bint had so easily outwitted him. Photographers herded around the corner and his vision was quickly clouded by flashing bulbs.


	5. Cho Ching Chong China Cho Chang

**Cho Ching Chong China Cho Chang**

_Oh my lovelies. Where was it we left off? Oh yes, little miss G left poor D standing all by his lonesome with the paparazzi. You'd think the city's playboy extraordinaire would be more savvy to the ways of women. I guess money can't buy everything. _

Cho Chang, chief executive officer of the increasingly powerful Chang Industries, violently threw the day's newspaper on her desk. Her eyes couldn't pull away from the moving image of Draco watching a certain redhead dash off into the night.

Well, it's not like she and Draco were an item, but they also weren't mere acquaintances. And a Weasley? Really? Surely he had better taste that than.

Cho shoved the paper off her desk and put her face in her hands. She didn't notice the door open.

"Miss Chang, you're ten o'clock is here," her assistant, Paula, chirped from the doorway. Paula paused, then added, "Would you like another latte? You seem particularly stressed today."

Cho glanced up at her assistant with a hard expression. "No, Paula, but thank you. Send the ten o'clock in."

Paula gave her a curt nod and disappeared.

Approximately fifteen seconds later, Blaise sauntered through the door. "Cho, my dear, you look...tired."

"Shut the door behind you," Cho snapped. She was already irritated. Meetings with Blaise were her least favorite time of the month (yes, even more than what we all know you're thinking). He spent a good seventy percent of the time staring at her chest (which honestly leaves her bewildered since there's not much in that department) and thirty percent of the time trying to convince her that he's better in the sack that her aforementioned lover, Draco.

Blaise sat down looking smug. He loved meetings with Cho. She was much more interesting after he spent enough time riling her up.

"Blaise, no small talk today," Cho started without pause, "Chang Industries is willing to offer you're company a long term contract for a 10% price cut. This leaves Chang Industries as your only warehouse distributor for the next five years. This is a one time offer, non-negotiable."

"I know better than to try to negotiate with you, love," Blaise replied.

She hated how he looked so goddamn smug all the time. "Good. Sign here."

Blaise took the pen from her, but instead of signing, leaned back in his chair. He was holding her hostage.

"I have a _very_ busy day," she warned.

"Of course you do," he said with a smile, "So how are things with you and dearest Draco?"

"Never better."

He raised an eyebrow. "Truly? Did you see today's paper?"

"Of course I did." Cho chose her words carefully, "Draco already told me he was going to dinner with Weasley. He mentioned something about making amends. Your company is vying for a contract with her anyways. It was a smart business decision."

"Whatever you say," Blaise retorted, watching her reaction carefully as he signed.

Cho kept her face cold. "That will be all today, Zabini. See you next month." She began collecting her papers when she felt a soft hand on her wrist.

"You know my door is always open," Blaise told her with a uncharacteristic moment of sincerity, "And if you walk through that door, it will eventually lead to my bed." And then it was gone.

Cho jerked her wrist back. "Please see Paula when you leave to schedule you're next appointment."

Blaise shot her a crooked grin on his way out. And for the slightest of moments, Cho felt her heart beat a little bit faster than she would have liked.

* * *

The day was longer than Cho had imagined. She was in back to back meetings, talking nothing but numbers and cost analysis. There was a reason she was head of her company. She was bloody good at number crunching and penny pinching and all forms of accounting.

Naturally, this left little time for her to have a life outside of work.

Draco had owled her during the day, but she wasn't quite up to seeing him yet. There was the trouble of turning off "Cho Chang, ruthless CEO" and returning to "Cho Chang, tired, single, working woman that would really appreciate a glass of Scotch and a foot rub". She never really got to see that latter of her personalities. Running a multimillion dollar, top of industry company was a 24-hour job.

And yet, even CEOs still have to buy their own groceries. Cho knew eating saltines with peanut butter wasn't going to cut it tonight.

Cho stood in the supermarket. She was lost in her thoughts, but to anyone passing by, it would appear as though she had an odd affection for the cantaloupe display. A flash of red caught her eye. No. It definitely couldn't be.

Weasley.

Cho felt a jolt of anxiety and suddenly wanted to hide. Reasonably, she knew nothing was going on between this other girl and her "boyfriend" or not-boyfriend or whatever he was, but she couldn't keep her more irrational, hysterical thoughts at bay. She also didn't feel like processing why she was suddenly so attached to the man she could have cared less about a few days ago.

_Sweetie, I've got one word for you: competition._

* * *

_Credits: Title goes to the song "Cho Chang" by Darren Criss from "A Very Potter Musical". Harry Potter and all elements thereof belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros._


	6. Toasted

Draco stared into his chai tea latte. The foam dissipated slowly into the light brown swirl of his drink. He couldn't get his mind off of a certain redhead. This was out of anger of course. Anger that he, Draco Malfoy, had been left dazed and confused outside of his favorite restaurant. What a tart that girl was.

This wasn't the first time the littlest of the Weasely's had crossed his path, however. They did run in similar circles, but she was often attached to The-Boy-Who-Was-The-Largest-Prat-On-Earth or flitting off to some other function. He couldn't blame her. High society suddenly became dull after your late twenties. Late night raves turned into charity balls and shuffle board all too quickly. They were all growing up so fast; Draco himself approaching twenty-four within the year. He was a young billionaire, and he didn't plan on saving all his fun for his later years.

He was restless with his life, already queen bee in the corporate hive. Well, not really a _queen_ per say. (But after a few Firewhiskey's, anything was possible.) Now his latte was cold. Damn. He was sure this was the reason Blaise told him not to think so much. Time always seemed to catch him unawares.

Time...and apparently Cho Chang. The slender girl stood in his doorway with a bag of groceries in her hands. Her stance wasn't as guarded as it normally was.

"I'd like you to make me dinner," she sort of announced and demanded at the same time, "I bought vegetables."

Draco leaned back in his chair and smiled despite himself. "Bravo, dear. You almost managed to be self sufficient today."

He smirked as her gorgeous almond eyes narrowed. "And you've managed to make a clever joke. We're you thinking of that one all day?"

"I never need to," Draco replied as he casually gathered his coat and walked towards Cho, "when you're always setting them up for me." His tone dropped into a buttery smoothness, and as if in an instant, he was very close to her face. She sucked in a slow breath.

"Only so you can feel better about yourself." The comeback was feeble, but she was more busy focusing on his soft lips. She shouldn't have come to his office. All of the anxiety she felt at the grocery store melted away. Draco was brilliant at distracting her like that. And before she could truly register what was happening, Draco's lips were on hers and nothing really mattered anymore.

* * *

Ginny threw a plate on the floor. She watched it splinter, as if in slow motion.

Harry had canceled on her again.

And yet, within seconds of the plate crashing, she felt utterly childish. Smashing plates wasn't going to bring Harry home for dinner.

Well, bullocks to that. It felt damn good.

Ginny reached for another and flung it across the room. A giggle escaped from her mouth. This felt brilliant. She smashed three more plates, pretending each one was Harry's stupid face scattering across floor.

Then, she uncorked the bottle of wine she'd been saving for evening. Screw her stupid prat of a boyfriend. As if evil couldn't wait an hour. What a wanker.

Four glasses later, Ginny had taken to charming random objects in her flat. Her toaster had become a particularly rambunctious hamster that was scurrying across the kitchen counters. A widely known fact about hamsters is that they have very poor vision and depth perception. Her ill-fated toaster-hamster probably believed it was trapped on some sort of island every time it reached the edge of the counters.

"Henry, stop scurrying about," Ginny shouted at the toaster-hamster. She was not sure why she decided to call it Henry. It simply seemed like a reasonable name at the time. She froze Henry. The sound of his tiny feet scratching across the countertop made her irritated.

She took out her phone to see if Harry had sent her any more messages. Nothing. Her heart sank. He hadn't even checked in on her. She looked at the clock. 11:30. Ginny was drunk and bored. If she stayed home much longer, she'd end up devouring a bag of potato chips. Chips equals hips. She giggled again at her rudimentary rhyming skills.

Ginny checked her phone again. 11:32. She shot up from the couch, feeling the pleasant rush of drunkenness through her muscles. Time to go clubbing.

* * *

"Another one," Ginny called sweetly to the bartender. No matter how drunk or sad or angry she was, she knew the most important rule of going out: ALWAYS be nice to the bartender. They are the liquor masters.

She plucked the cherry from the bottom of her glass and bit into it. Sweet, sugary whiskey burst into her mouth. How she loved a well mixed old fashioned.

She glanced around the club. It was a Thursday night, so the crowd was decent. A few guys dared to hit on her at the bar. Her tongue was much more callous after many drinks and she shot them down quickly with a couple carefully placed words. The music felt good in her bones. Mindless, rhythmic bass provided a comforting consistency that her life didn't have. Ginny mumbled a short thank you when the bartender brought her drink. She sipped on it like a little hummingbird.

Ginny watched the lights dance across the shiny surface of the bar top. Her eyes were swimming slightly from the alcohol. Then she remembered her last club adventure, when she ran into Draco. He was an arse, still, but a very handsome one, and sharp as a whip. He might make a good friend. Or a good connection at least.

A laugh escaped her lips when she thought of her and Draco Malfoy as _friends._

How preposterous.

"I'd like to close my tab," she said without even finishing her drink. It was late, and she knew she was being a bit foolish. She slid carefully out of her seat, hoping the last three hours wouldn't rush to her head as soon as her heels clicked against the floor.

As she was walking towards the door a hand reached out and caught her arm. She turned to see who it was. Blaise Zabini's smooth smirk greeted her in return.


End file.
